


persuasion (can build a nation)

by skatzaa, soup_illustrations (potofsoup)



Series: who run the world? [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Avengers: Age of Ultron AU, Background Polyamory, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, I Will Fit All The MCU Ladies Into This Series If It Kills Me, Lesbian Sharon Carter, Minor Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Minor Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov, Minor Sharon Carter/Christine Palmer, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, POV Alternating, Who Run The World? Girls, past Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, very minor Clint Barton/Laura Barton/Natasha Romanov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-04
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-06-01 14:24:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skatzaa/pseuds/skatzaa, https://archiveofourown.org/users/potofsoup/pseuds/soup_illustrations
Summary: Around the world, scientists, soldiers, and spies are learning about some strange occurrences in the Eastern European country of Sokovia. No one's quite sure what's going on, but they're determined to figure it out.Or: the women of the MCU fix everything.





	persuasion (can build a nation)

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as part of the Cap Reverse Big Bang for 2018 for potofsoup's incredible artwork! Thank you so much for the chance to write a fun, lady-filled fic, and thank you for your patience as I was writing this up until the very last second!
> 
> If y'all have any questions feel free to drop a comment here or head on over to tumblr (I'm skatzaa there as well) and send me a message/ask! I really do hope you like this, it was a delight to write! Title and series name from Run the World by Beyoncé, bc why not?

From: jane.foster@gmail.com  
To: elizabethross@gmail.com  
CC: d.lewis@culver.edu

Subject: Strange readings

1 file attached

 

Hey Betty,

Sorry it’s been so long since my last email. Darcy and I have been in Eastern Sokovia for the past month, trying to observe the stellar anomalies we were talking about before. Our service was non-existent the entire time, and we’re just getting back to Arizona now.

Unfortunately, most of my readings were corrupted by some sort of terrestrial interference. Do you mind taking a look at them? They seem to fall somewhere between what we were picking up on during the convergence and what I’ve seen from the research Bruce was doing before his accident. Any input you have would be appreciated; Darcy and I can’t make head or tail of any of it.

Thanks! Maybe we can do lunch next time Darcy and I are passing through? Would love to see you and L again soon.

Jane Foster

 

* * *

 

**Wakanda**

Shuri frowns at her console screen. She’s in the middle of a project that—if all goes well—will cut down on the number of Kimoyo beads a person will need. But her console is flashing an alert for one of the satellites stationed over Europe.

She taps the alert and it brings up the full message. Shuri knows most of the codes by now—this one is for a sensor malfunction—but the full report makes no sense.

“A’Kane?” she says, lifting her chin without taking her eyes off the screen. “Do you understand this?”

Ayo steps into the space behind Shuri’s left shoulder. She’s joined by A’Kane a moment later, both of them still and certain. Shuri likes working with them; they’re intelligent, and A’Kane’s theoretical knowledge and Ayo’s practical experience complement Shuri’s own engineering abilities very well. It helps that they did not protest T’Chaka’s decision to finally allow Shuri an official position in R&D, despite her age.

“Can you bring up the satellite’s feed, Princess?” A’Kane asks.

Shuri taps the screen again. Ayo has to tell her the security code to access the feeds—her father likely won’t be pleased by that—and then the correct one for this satellite comes up.

The readings are—all over the place. A’Kane makes a noise low in her throat and leans closer, watching the fluctuations of the radiation meter.

“Whatever it is, it’s putting off massive amounts of energy,” A’Kane says.

Shuri looks up and back over her shoulder. A’Kane’s graying, natural hair obscures most of her face from Shuri’s view. “You mean it’s burning a lot of energy?”

“No,” Ayo says from Shuri’s other side. “It’s generating energy, similar to a nuclear power plant.”

“But not like vibranium,” Shuri guesses. She’s worked with vibranium in the past, but she still doesn’t fully understand all of its properties and its potential uses. She’s working on fixing that.

“Not like vibranium,” A’Kane confirms. “And not fully like a nuclear plant. The radiation levels are wrong. And it’s not containing the energy. It’s—dispersing it.”

Ayo makes a disapproving sound. “Wasteful.”

“Perhaps,” A’Kane says. Her brow furrows. “It’s almost…”

Shuri and Ayo allow her to think; by the distant look in her eye, she’s running calculations.

“It’s almost as though it’s a byproduct. Unintentional.”

So the question in all of their minds is: what would result in these types of readings, in an isolated region of Eastern Europe? And: do they need to be concerned?

“Ayo, do we have any War Dogs in this region?” Shuri asks.

One of Ayo’s Kimoyo beads beeps as she pulls up a screen.

“The closest operative is Nakia,” Ayo tells them. Shuri could laugh.

If these readings are correct and the satellite is not actually malfunctioning—a possibility they must consider—King T’Chaka and his advisors will wish to send someone to assess the situation.

Shuri turns in her seat to face Ayo.

“Call Nakia,” she says. “Someone should check this out.”

 

* * *

 

From: elizabethross@gmail.com  
To: jane.foster@gmail.com; d.lewis@culver.edu

Subject: Strange readings

 

Jane,

It’s good to hear from you! We would love to do lunch; let us know the next time you visit the east coast and I’m sure L won’t mind leaving the kids with the hubby for a little trip.

I took a look like you asked, and you’re right. The radiation levels are very similar to the work Bruce was doing with the gamma particle, but I can’t understand some of the other readings. You’re sure it’s from a terrestrial source? I’ll admit I’m outside of my field at the moment. I’d like to put you in contact with an old friend; she’s worked with NASA in the past, and she’s definitely the person to talk to about this sort of thing. Carol would have a better idea of what’s going on here. This is her email: carolsdanvers@outlook.com

I hope you and Darcy enjoyed your time in Sokovia and I’m sorry whatever this is interfered with your observations.

Love,  
Betty

[See quoted text]

 

* * *

  

**Sokovia**

Nakia has just found a secluded spot in the forest south of the fortress when her Kimoyo bead chirps. There are no cameras here, and so she is as safe as she can be for now. Nakia settles herself more comfortably against the tree trunk at her back and accepts the call. It’s Okoye, and the red of her Dora Milaje uniform is vibrant in comparison to the bleak valley she finds herself in.

“Nakia,” Okoye greets her. Nakia has to raise the volume to better hear her over the sounds of the river a few dozen meters away. “The princess wishes to speak with you.”

The focus of the Kimoyo bead widens, decreasing the size of Okoye until Princess Shuri is in the frame as well.

“Sister,” Shuri says, teasing.

Nakia presses her lips together so as not to smile. “My princess. What is it you have for me?”

Shuri fidgets with something out of frame.

“I cannot scan the fortress without drawing too much attention to our satellites right now,” she starts, shoulders high and tense. “Passively picking up readings is one thing, but a direct scan would be too obvious. But from what you’ve sent us, it’s safe to conclude this is where the energy signal originated.”

“Princess,” Okoye interjects, “are you _certain_ of this? I do not wish to send Nakia into something blind.”

Shuri _tch_ s and rearranges her braids. Their figures are too small on the display to truly make out their expressions, but it’s clear they’ve been having this argument over the several days it has taken Nakia to make her way to Sokovia. It’s been worn smooth—there are no longer any sharp words that might snag on feelings, simply the push and pull of confirmation asked for and received.

Okoye sighs and turns to face the display fully. “Nakia, have you noticed any weak points?”

Nakia presses her back into the tree bark and thinks. Most of the entrances—and all of the obvious ones—are heavily guarded, and the windows are either too small to fit through or have bars fitted inside the openings.

“There was a train tunnel on the west side of the fortress’s base,” she says. It will have some sort of protective measures, of course, but without a live guard it might be her best bet. “The fortress is built over the river, but both ends of the tunnel are grated.”

She doesn’t mention the fact that the river is flooded this time of year; to access that would require gear that she doesn’t have access to. It also is likely protected by defensive countermeasures, and Nakia doesn’t want to try and avoid them while working underwater.

Okoye frowns. “Could you disguise yourself as a staff member or guard and get in that way?”

Nakia shakes her head.

“They’re all white, from what I’ve seen.” And mostly men, though she’s noticed enough women that it wouldn’t be improbable. But a dark-skinned woman will draw too much attention. “I don’t know what is going on here, but it feels…”

She thinks again of the armored vehicles constantly coming and going from the fortress. The multitude of guns on every guard. The teenager who, as Nakia had watched from afar, had stumbled and been slapped across the face for it. She thinks of the body bags carried from the main building to another in the dead of night.

“There is something wrong with this place,” she finally settles on.

The small replica of Shuri’s face shows that she’s quiet and drawn. It is unlike their Princess to be unsure, and it worries Nakia more than anything. Okoye, too, is pensive.

"Can you sneak in without them seeing you?" It's from someone off screen—Ayo, perhaps.

"If I wait until the dead of night," Nakia says, "it might be possible."

Okoye shakes her head. "I don't want you going into this without backup."

"There aren't any War Dogs within five hundred kilometers," Shuri argues. She starts to pace, moving in and out of the Kimoyo bead's range. "By the time they get there, whatever it is could be gone. Could we send some of the Dora Milaje, Okoye?"

Nakia is reminded of how young Shuri is, then. She's a brilliant engineer and scientist, no Wakandan can deny that, but she's little more than a child. Her impatience to discover the source of the anomalies comes at the expense of truly understanding the situation before Nakia enters it, which is a dangerous position to be in.

"No," Okoye says, firm. "The Dora are meant to protect Wakanda and the royal family. You know that, Shuri."

Shuri crosses her arms and stares Okoye down, but it's not a battle she can win and she knows it.

"I have contacts in other countries," Nakia offers as a compromise. On the screen, Okoye and Shuri turn to face her again, both their expressions obstinate. Nakia reassures them: "None that know I am Wakandan. But I know some high ranked individuals who work closely with several governments who might have the resources to deal with this."

Shuri moves out of the Kimoyo bead's view again and Ayo steps into her place. She frowns at Nakia.

"Do you trust them?" she asks.

Nakia thinks of her options and considers. Most are only useful if she finds herself in trouble within their borders; they do not have the ability to interfere in another country's affairs—or if they _do_ have those luxuries, they will not wish to involve themselves.

 _Politics._ She hates how politics rule every decision, how schemes and _considerations_ hinder their ability to help people.

"Some," she settles on. It is not good enough. "There are others—those who do not work for governments. I trust them more than most."

"I still don't like it," Okoye says. Shuri steps back into view, causing Ayo to shift closer to Okoye to allow for Nakia to see all three properly. "As a War Dog, the only person with the power to control you is King T'Chaka, Nakia. But I hope you will wait."

Nakia inclines her head to acknowledge Okoye's respect for her position. She says, "I will wait, for now."

There is more still to learn here, before she decides what to do. She does not trust this fortress or the people inhabiting it.

In Wakanda, Shuri inhales sharply, her shoulders drawing up, but she does not protest.

"There's a village about seven kilometers west of here," Nakia says. She does not mention the bunker that lies between the two, full of armed soldiers whose only job is to stop anyone unauthorized to enter or leave the valley. If she is careful, it won’t be an issue. "I will return there for a time until we decide what must be done."

Okoye and Ayo agree that her plan is the best thing they have at the moment, and Nakia signs off soon after with little fanfare. Just before the connection cuts off, Shuri says, cheekily, "I will tell T'Challa that you send your love!"

Nakia stares at the grey-green moss on the forest floor before her and suppresses a laugh because it is not safe to laugh here.

She will return to the village as she said she would, playing the part of the lost and slightly clueless tourist. Unless there are helicopters here that she has not seen so far, the only way in and out of this valley is through the village at the valley's mouth. From there, she can keep an eye on the comings and goings of the men and women from this fortress.

But she will also reach out to one of her contacts. She did not mention it in the call because she knows Okoye will not approve.

It will have to be someone unaffiliated with a government, and yet with access to the funds and weaponry necessary to mount a successful assault against such an isolated location. Someone who will not be suspicious of her involvement or question what led her to be here in the first place.

Nakia stands and brushes off the seat of her pants. She is careful not to allow fallen twigs and leaves to crack beneath her boots, and she silently thanks the river—so far away from the river of her tribe and yet still dear to her heart—for being noisy enough to cover her retreat.

She knows just who to call, and she resolves to do just that once she has reached the safety of the village.

 

* * *

 

**New York**

Maria raps her knuckles against the open door to Pepper's office and waits until she hears a quiet _come in_ to step inside.

Pepper is seated at her desk, surrounded on all sides by paperwork that is far more disorganized than Maria is used to seeing. Her hair is pulled back in a clip at the back of her skull but bright strands have escaped. Her bangs are swept messily off to one side but, as Maria watches, a portion falls into Pepper's eyes. She huffs and reaches up to push it out of the way again.

Maria clasps her hands in from of her body and waits. Pepper finishes reviewing the file in her hands and sets it aside. It is only then that she looks up, and she smiles wryly when she sees Maria.

"Has Tony gotten himself into trouble again?"

Maria laughs and steps closer to the desk when Pepper gestures at the open chair. She sits, adjusting the holster at her hip as she does so, and scans the skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Pepper's office. She knows the glass was created by Stark himself—it's not likely to shatter anytime soon, even from sniper fire—but it doesn't help her unease.

"No," she says, "thankfully. I'm sorry to interrupt, but I'm here about something... a bit more worrying, and a lot more unusual."

Pepper leans forward, forearms braced on the edge of her desk. She frowns. "Is this about your text from earlier? What is it?"

It's been nearly a year, and yet Maria still occasionally has trouble adjusting to the differences between private sector security work and her position at SHIELD. Nick would have demanded a solution before he even found out what the problem was. Pepper Potts, for all her accomplishments and her long and varied relationship with Tony—and all the trouble that has come from it—is still a businesswoman, first and foremost.

"One of my overseas contacts just left a message about a potential situation that's developing in Sokovia. She wasn't able to get inside the location, but what she did see concerned her, to say the least."

Pepper leans back again and moves some of her files to one side so the desk space in front of her is clear. Meaningless work, just something to keep her hands busy.

"Did she give you anything more concrete?"

"I have the recording of her message, if you would like to hear that?" Maria asks, but Pepper shakes her head. "Okay. She located an isolated fortress in Sokovia that she's been watching for the past several days. It's been a hub of activity the whole time, with armed guards and several dead bodies being disposed of each night."

Pepper inhales at that. "Was there anything else?"

Maria shrugs and says, "Not much. She's waiting nearby, but she can’t infiltrate the location on her own. She’d worried, though, which is enough to worry me."

Pepper sighs. Her phone buzzes and she checks the message but doesn't reply. She chews on the inside of her cheek for a moment as she thinks.

"I hate to ask this," she starts, "but how can we be sure that she's trustworthy?"

It's a fair question, especially in the wake of SHIELD's fall. Another difference, though: Nick wouldn't have trusted Maria's source out of habit, but he _would_ have trusted Maria. If she believes her source enough to pass along the information in the first place, he would go along with it.

"I've known Yasmine Bernard for five years," Maria says. "She's an intelligence operative born in France with no ties to any current governments. SHIELD was never sure who trained her, but they did a very good job. Speaks at least a dozen languages, has had extensive hand-to-hand combat training, and is good with any weapon you hand her."

Pepper hasn't stopped frowning.

“Why come to me?”

It’s an excellent question. If she mentioned it to Happy, he would just wave her off as he rushed to deal with whatever new scandal Tony had cooked up. And Tony himself, well—he’s more likely to take the Fly In Repulsors Blazing First And Ask Questions Later approach that will only cause more problems that it will solve. Nick won’t give her the time of day with so little concrete evidence to work with.

“I trust you,” Maria tells her. “Yasmine didn’t have a lot of details, but it’s probably going to be HYDRA related–”

Pepper jerks back minutely, her eyes going wide. “What makes you say that?”

“The European branches of HYDRA, from what Nat has told me, still emphasize racial purity,” Maria says. She adjusts her hip holster again for something to do. “Yasmine said she’s only seen white men, for the most part, going in or out. Only a few women, and they’re white as well. Plus, with the insignia she mentioned…”

She lets herself trail off, because she can see that Pepper understands.

“I see,” Pepper says. She opens her mouth to continue, but her phone buzzes again, twice in quick succession this time. She shoots Maria an apologetic glance before picking the phone up and reading the new messages. There’s a sardonic tilt to her mouth when Pepper looks up again, meeting Maria’s eyes. “Natasha wants to call. She says she has news for me.”

Maria can’t imagine how Nat would have found about about this, but if anyone could it would be her. She doesn’t doubt that’s what it is, either. Nat’s discovered the same information Yasmine did, which lends credibility to the story, at the very least.

“I’ll let you call her then,” Maria says, standing. She gives Pepper a small grin. “Thanks for your time. The base is in Sokovia.”

Pepper shoots her a smile and presses something on the screen of her phone, lifting it to her ear. Maria pivots and strides out of the room.

If Nat has found more than circumstantial evidence, Maria will need to prep for a mission, one way or another. She turns in the direction of her office, already planning.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**New York**

Natasha tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and opens the door to the restaurant. The soft sounds of people conversing wash over her. Pepper, seated facing the entrance, smiles and raises a hand in greeting. She looks like she came straight from the office. Nat deflects the hostess with a gesture toward Pepper and weaves her way toward their table.

“Nat,” Pepper says, rising to grip Nat’s elbow. She presses a kiss to Nat’s cheek and Nat returns the favor before they settle into their chairs. Nat picks up a menu but Pepper continues, “I hope you don’t mind that I already ordered. From the sounds of things on the phone, I half expected you to show up in your suit, bleeding all over the floor.”

Nat laughs and lets Pepper see her smooth down the fabric of her skirt. “It wasn’t that bad.”

The server arrives, bearing plates of nigiri and a type of roll Nat isn’t sure she knows the name of. When he asks, Nat sticks with her water.

Pepper takes a moment, sipping from her glass. She puts it down and says, “But it was bad enough for you to call me, rather than Steve or one of the others.”

Nat concedes the point with a tilt of her head. She reaches into the breast pocket of her jacket and pulls out a data chip.

“I found evidence of human experimentation at the latest HYDRA base Steve sent me to,” she says, holding out the chip. Pepper raises an eyebrow but takes it. Nat eats a piece of nigiri as Pepper reaches under her seat and pulls a tablet from her bag.

She plugs the chip in. Nat waits for her to flip through the files, eyes wide. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, horror creeping into every inch of her face. Nat’s already seen them all, of course: mission reports, experiment results, simulations of DNA mutations. Everything in code, but understandable with the notes she’s attached. Nothing too incriminating, but it paints a clear enough picture.

Nat tries one of the rolls and decides it’s probably ahi. She shifts in her seat and winces; that bullet did a little more damage than she’d expected from a light graze. Nat crosses her left leg over her right to alleviate the pressure.

Pepper turns the screen off and sets the tablet to one side, breathing deliberately slow through her nose. Nat gives her a moment.

“You’re sure,” Pepper starts, before clearing her throat. She tries again: “You’re certain this is about _human_ experimentation.”

Nat shrugs and takes a sip of her water. Watches the way the servers expertly glide between the tables. It reminds her of dancing. She says, “It’s the same type of language all the bases have used about Barnes.”

Pepper works her jaw. Her eyes are on the food but Nat isn’t sure she’ll end up eating. She feels bad; maybe they should have waited until after lunch to start on this. Pepper arranges her chopsticks and picks up a roll. Holds it in front of her face.

“So why reach out to me?” Pepper asks.

The server stops by their table and refills Nat’s water, ice cubes clinking softly against the glass.

“I can handle the infiltration,” Nat says, watching Pepper’s face, “if that’s the route we decide to take. But it can be useful to have a structure in place for victims once they’ve been extracted.”

Pepper eats the roll. Her nose twitches minutely, like it isn’t what she was expecting.

“Are we talking legal support?”

Nat shrugs. “If necessary. The ability to get them home, if they have a home. Or finding them somewhere new where they can be safe.” She eats another piece of nigiri, chewing slowly. “Legal support can help that, and I know you and Tony do a lot of philanthropic work. You’re sure to know people that can help.”

Pepper uses her chopsticks to pick up another ahi roll. She eats it, and this time Nat definitely catches the way she hesitates before swallowing.

They eat. Nat doesn’t press the issue further; instead she allows the sounds of the restaurant to soften the silence.

Eventually, Pepper flags the server for the check. Nat doesn’t try to fight her for it; it’ll be her turn next time, and anyway—money’s been a little tight since SHIELD stopped existing and, by extension, stopped paying her.

“It’s interesting,” Pepper says, as she signs the receipt. She puts the pen down on the table and pulls her phone out. “You aren’t the only one who thought to come to me.”

Nat raises an eyebrow, but instead of trying to explain, Pepper only taps at her phone screen and pulls something up. She turns the screen toward Nat and passes the phone over. It’s a text.

 **From: Maria Hill**  
I have some intel that I need your input on

Nat lets out a startled sound and hands the phone back. She looks at Pepper, who tucks the phone away in the pocket of her suit jacket. She asks, “How did Maria hear about this?”

“She came to my office,” Pepper says, rising. Nat follows her lead, pushing her chair in as they start toward the door. “One of her contacts from her SHIELD days approached her about a potential human rights violation in Sokovia.”

Nat opens the door and holds it so that Pepper can step through. Pepper turns and watches her exit the building. Her hair shines in the afternoon sun, bright in a way that Nat’s has never been.

“Sokovia,” Nat says.

Pepper tilts her head, lips quirking to one side. “Sokovia.”

 

* * *

 

From: jane.foster@gmail.com  
To: carolsdanvers@outlook.com

Subject: Gamma radiation readings

2 files attached

 

Dear Dr. Danvers,

My name is Jane Foster. I am an astrophysicist who primarily studies the effects of Einstein-Rosen Bridges and their implications for interdimensional travel and our understanding of astrophysics as a whole, despite what many of our colleagues think about the subject. A mutual friend suggested that I contact you about some odd readings I collected in Sokovia last month.

As you can see from the attached files, the readings are likely terrestrial in nature and include large fluctuations in gamma radiation and massive quantities of energy. I don’t know what to make of them, and hope that you would have a better idea. Last year, I interacted with a powerful singularity known as an infinity stone, and from what I was able to gather after the event occurred, the two events were similar in several ways.

Any advice you might have would be greatly appreciated. I’ve admired your work for a long time and look forward to hearing from you, if you have the time.

Sincerely,  
Jane Foster

 

From: carolsdanvers@outlook.com  
To: jane.foster@gmail.com

Subject: Gamma radiation readings

 

**This is an automated reply.**

I apologize for the delay, but I am currently out of town and do not have access to my email account. I cannot be sure when I will return home, as my line of work demands a very flexible schedule, but I will do my best to respond to you email when I am able. Thank you for contacting me.

Carol Danvers

[See quoted text]

 

* * *

 

**Sokovia**

Nakia pulls up her hood and ducks into the alley as another convoy drives past in the village’s narrow streets. She’s only been here for a day, but this is the third one to leave the compound since her arrival.

Something has changed.

The villagers can sense it too, and the result is an oppressive aura of wariness that presses down on all their heads. The compound guards have begun randomly raiding houses, searching for someone or something, though they have yet to announce what.

The vehicles rumble past. Nakia lets out her breath once they are gone and turns toward the street once more, determined to find the inn the bemused local told her about earlier that morning. But then—

Something grazes the exposed skin of her elbow. The hairs on the back of her neck raise and the space between her shoulder blades grows tight.

Nakia glances back over her shoulder. There—in the back of the dead end alley, where there was no one only a moment before—she sees a man.

Her head whips around to scan the street but there’s no one in view; all the locals scattered at the first sign of the convoy. It’s just her and the man. She inches closer to him, feet silent on the cobblestones, and still—he hears her.

His head swings up, eyes squinted in suspicion, and she realizes he’s more of a boy than a man. His face is gaunt, unnaturally silver hair snarled around his head. There’s something _unnatural_ about him as a whole, something that goes far beyond the color of his hair. He looks sick with how ashen his skin is.

As she watches him, he flashes half a meter to the right, faster than any normal human should be able to move. It’s as though he simply blinked out of existence and then reappeared again a moment later.

He stares at her as though he’s a cornered antelope and she a panther, seeming not to have noticed his own movement. Conscious that she is between the boy and his only exit, Nakia raises her hands slowly, palms up to show that she is not a threat.

“Who are you?” she asks in English, letting a British accent clip the edges of her words. When he doesn’t respond, she repeats herself in Serbian. His gaze darts down and then back up at that, but he still doesn’t respond. She tries, “My name is Asha. What’s yours?”

“Pietro,” the boy says, and then flinches, almost as though he didn’t expect for it to slip out. He shifts again, two meters forward. It’s like a stutter—whatever his enhancements are, he’s stuttering. Perhaps he is unused to them?

“I will not hurt you, Pietro,” she tells him. “Are you alone?”

His gaze darts to the mouth of the alley. Nakia inhales, blinks—

He is gone.

No matter how hard she searches throughout the rest of the day, Nakia does not see Pietro again. But she sees traces of him: families startling inside their homes as curtains move when there is no breeze. Shopkeepers who peer suspiciously at her as she passes and talk about foreigners stealing produce in a language they do not think she understands. A child, in the path of the latest incoming motorcade, safely in the arms of her mother a moment before the trucks roll past.

It has been years since she met an enhanced individual, barring her king, but Nakia can recognize a flashing vibranium sign for what it is when she sees one.

She finds the inn at last and bargains with the owner in a cheerfully round British accent about the price of her room. The owner mutters to himself about crazy foreigners as he shows her to the room; Nakia keeps up a steady stream of inanities about getting lost on her way home from Novi Grad and holds the plate of food he gives her with both hands. She oohs and ahhs about the little window set into the far wall, and locks the door behind the innkeeper as he leaves.

Nakia sets the plate down on the bedside table and moves to the window. Her room is tucked away in the back of the inn’s ground floor. The window looks out onto the tiny space squashed between the inn and the house behind it. If the house had any windows, she would be able to see directly into the family’s home. Nakia levers the lower pane up and allows the chilled evening air to flood the room. She twists around.

There’s a candle beside the plate and it takes only a moment to retrieve it and carry it back to the window ledge. She pulls the lighter from her pocket and lights the candle. The tiny flame flickers in time with the movement of the air before growing stronger. She goes back and picks up the bedside table. It’s easy enough to ensure the floor doesn’t creak beneath her feet as she situates it just below the window sill and about a meter in from the wall, the plate of food still on top of it. Then she retreats, settling herself cross-legged against the door. Nakia rests her arms on her legs—wrist to knee, elbow to hip—and turns her palms up.

She waits.

When she was young, Nakia would sit at her river’s edge and make herself as still as she could bear to be. She would breathe shallowly through her nose and watch, rapt, as the creatures that called the riverbank their home crept back into place around her. She would wait until she was still enough for a butterfly to land on her forearm or a tiny river frog to hop up and balance itself on her big toe.

This feels very similar, as she waits. She can’t guarantee that he’ll come, but this is her best bet when she’s without the equipment that would allow her to track him.

An hour passes, marked only by the shortening of the candle. Her lower half grows numb but she does not move.

When he comes, she almost misses him. Nakia blinks and the candle is out, thin trail of smoke drifting out into the alley. The food remains untouched, too far into the room for Pietro to reach without climbing all the way through the window.

“Pietro,” Nakia calls in Serbian. “My name is Asha, we met earlier today. I will not hurt you.”

Silence.

Then: the window pane rattles and Pietro is across the room. Nakia keeps her hands where they are, open and empty.

  

 

“How do I know I can trust you?” he asks. There is little light to see him by but Nakia knows he will not look much healthier than before, despite his stolen food and extra clothing.

“I came here to uncover what is going on at the fortress.”

He flinches away from her and then is within arms’ reach. She isn’t sure if it’s intentional or another stutter, like before. Nakia keeps her breathing even.

“My sister,” he says, eyes wide. He still looks ill, and she realizes that it has caused her to underestimate his age. He’s a few years older than Shuri at least, but gaunt and trembling. She can’t imagine what his metabolism must be like, to fuel such speeds. Pietro says again, “My sister. She’s still in the fortress.”

Nakia holds herself still, pretending that she is at her river’s edge once more. She had assumed, with the limp, ungainly bags she had seen the guards carrying, but to hear confirmation of it—of human experimentation—surely that is where he got his powers from—

She breathes.

Once she is in control of her emotions once more, she lifts her right arm, slowly, ever so slowly. Pietro does not move away, so Nakia reaches up and out and presses her fingers to the skin of his cheek, as soft as a moth’s wings.

He swallows, throat convulsing. “She didn’t want to go at first but I convinced her to. And now Baron von Strucker will allow Dr. List–”

Pietro collapses to his knees and curls in on himself, gasping. He presses his forehead into the wooden floor and hides his face with his arms. Nakia’s hand follows him and she rests it against his spine.

“She will be free,” Nakia promises him. “There are others like me who are coming to help. But first, I need to make sure you will be safe.”

He turns his head to the side and glares balefully up at her with one eye. “I’m not leaving without Wanda.”

Nakia understands, but when Agent Hill arrives, it will do more harm than good if they get in her way. Nakia is a spy, not a soldier, and Pietro is an underfed teenager who would do anything to free his sister. She has no doubt he would betray them in an instant if he thought it would ensure Wanda’s safety.

“I will go with you,” she says, smoothing her hand down the length of his spine. Pietro relaxes minutely. “I have a friend who understands genetics better than anyone in the world. She will figure out what they did to change you, and she will be able to help your sister once my friends arrive.”

Pietro scoffs and sits upright. Nakias hand drops back into her lap. He says, “I know what they did. Dr. List used the staff.”

“The staff?” she asks.

He gestures with both hands, searching for the words and frustrated by whatever he must come up with. She thinks that Serbian is not his first language.

“It glows,” he finally says. “Dr. List used it on the other protestors. It—changed them.”

“And you.”

His hands twitch. “Yes. But I survived.”

Nakia stands, pauses as the numbness in her legs is replaced by thorns. She grits her teeth and offers a hand to Pietro, which he accepts.

“We are going to make sure you _continue_ to survive,” she says. “Now come, we need to buy train tickets.”

 

* * *

 

**Seoul**

Helen doesn’t consciously decide to work late. It’s just that she’s closer to a breakthrough in her regeneration research than she’s been in months. If only she could just—

The Skype ringtone plays, loud enough to startle Helen from her work. She straightens and frowns. The light above her workstation is on, but the rest of the lab is dark and quiet, empty of her aides and colleagues. There is a cup of tea at her elbow, long gone cold. Helen isn’t sure who left it there. Outside, she can see the barest hints of purple on the horizon. Is it truly that late?

Her tablet falls silent. Helen turns back to the prototype Cradle.

The ringtone starts again.

Helen groans and pushes herself to her feet. It takes her a moment to shove aside all the spare parts and uncover the tablet, and she accepts the call without checking who it’s from.

“Hello,” Asha says, her Korean as flawless as ever. Her smile is radiant, even on the dimly lit screen of Helen’s tablet. She’s clearly tired, and the video feed rocks gently. Traveling on a train, then. Asha reaches up and adjusts one of her earbuds.

“Asha! Hello!” Helen greets. She cringes when she sees her own feed in the corner of the screen; her hair has all but come undone from its bun and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. “How can I help you?”

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” Asha says, hesitant and apologetic. Helen waves off her concerns.

“I could use the distraction.” She takes the opportunity to stretch her entire body. Something in her back pops and releases tension she hadn’t been aware of. Now that it’s gone, she can feel the difference.

On Asha’s end of the connection, the train blows its horn. Someone out of view curses in another language. Asha glances in that direction and responds in the same language.

There is a lot Helen does not know about her friend. She doesn’t press. Asha turns her attention back to the screen.

“I am coming to see you,” she says. Helen starts to smile, but she stops at Asha’s obvious concern. “I have with me a teenage boy. He’s undergone some sort of genetic manipulation.”

Helen frowns and clears more space at her workstation. She props the tablet up and sits.

“He’s a mutant?” She hasn’t worked with many mutants; only one, in fact, nearly a decade ago when the scientific community was first starting to understand what led to the manifestation of these types of mutations in the first place.

Asha shakes her head. “This is from an external source. They may have unlocked a mutation already hidden in his genes, but it wasn’t a spontaneous development.”

The sky has lightened further in the time they’ve been talking, but on Asha’s end there are no pre-dawn shadows flashing across her face. Only the soft glow of an overhead bulb. Helen wonders where Asha and her charge are.

“Why bring him to me? Surely there are those in the intelligence community–”

“He is a _child_ ,” Asha snaps, “and a victim. I will not have them violate him further with their invasive tests.”

Helen straightens, careful not to tip back too far since her stool doesn’t have a back. There are many things she doesn’t know about her friend, and that—her ferocity, her anger—is clearly one of those things. The silence hangs between them, heavy and awkward, for far too long.

“My apologies,” Asha says, rubbing part of her face tiredly. “His sister is still in the compound. He worries for her, and it puts me on edge.”

Helen nods once in acceptance. It’s not the most graceful apology, but she can forgive it nonetheless.

“When can I expect you by?” she asks. She wishes the tea was still warm. She could use it right now.

“Within the next day,” Asha replies, her eyes sliding off to the side again. Watching the boy, presumably.

“Will you go back for his sister?”

Asha drops her chin and lets her eyes droop closed. “If all goes well, I won’t have to.”

Rapid fire speech from off screen; this time Helen recognizes it as one of the Slavic languages, though she isn’t sure which.

“I must go now,” Asha says. “I will send you a message when we are close.”

Helen bids her farewell and waits for the call to disconnect before turning the tablet off.  She stares at the black screen, hardly seeing her own disheveled reflection.

A genetic mutation that wasn’t spontaneous. She’s heard of such things before, but Helen has a feeling this will be unlike anything she’s studied in the past.

The sun breaks across the horizon and orange light spills across the lab. Helen sighs and stands. She’s going to need more tea for this.

 

* * *

 

**New York**

Natasha at least has the decency to wait until Christine disappears through the staff entrance of Metro-General before approaching.

Sharon knows she’s there but refuses to give her the satisfaction of turning immediately. Instead, she tucks her hands into her jacket pockets and stares at the door. It’s a little warm now for a leather jacket, but Christine likes the way it looks on her, so Sharon has taken to wearing it when she’s off duty.

Natasha whistles lowly and says, “Wow, you’re really moving up in the world. Spies are a dime a dozen these days, but a _surgeon_ …”

“For once,” Sharon sighs, turning to look Natasha head on, “I would like it if I _didn’t_ fulfill a lesbian stereotype.”

Nat gives her a sly smirk. “To be fair, you didn’t U-Haul me.”

“I’m an emotional U-Hauler and you know it,” Sharon says, starting down the sidewalk. Natasha lets out a startled laugh and falls into step beside her. She lets Sharon lead her away from the hospital without complaint.

“You don’t want to hate me,” Natasha says, full of cocky confidence. “What’s the fun in that?”

Damn her but she’s right.

Sharon slows to a stop as the crosswalk signal changes to an orange hand and the traffic begins to move. She hunches further into her jacket, glad that Natasha is shorter than her because it means her face will mostly be blocked out by the jacket’s collar.

“Why are you here, Nat?” she asks. But she already knows.

Natasha pulls out her phone and opens a file. She shoves it in Sharon’s direction, forcing her to catch it so it doesn’t shatter on the sidewalk.

As Sharon reads the file, the signal changes again. Natasha grips her elbow and guides her as they hurry across the street, their strides just barely out of sync. Someone jostles Sharon and doesn’t apologize.

She hates this city. But it’s where the CIA have her stationed for now and it’s where Christine is, so she squashes the annoyance and keeps reading.

The files are— _horrific_ barely covers it. She’s glad there aren’t images to accompany the medical reports. The words are bad enough.

She’s wrong, actually: there is one image. It’s at the bottom of the last file, the one on the upcoming experiments. Female subject with olive skin and a nasty snarl.

Sharon knows that face. She stops walking.

Natasha curses and shoves them toward the storefronts, where they’ll be out of the way of the worst of the crowds. Sharon knows she should help, but she just stares at the picture, bringing the phone closer to her nose like that will solve the problem for her. She recognizes that face, but where from?

She tilts the phone to one side so it catches the sunlight. _Oh,_ now she remembers.

“These files are recent,” Sharon says.

“I only got them like two days ago.”

Someone bumps into Sharon and she shoots them a dirty look. They scowl right back before melting into the crowd.

God, she _hates_ this city.

“No.” Sharon shakes her head. She squints at the picture. “I mean, all of this is _really_ recent. This woman was photographed at an anti-occupation protest last week.”

Natasha crowds closer to Sharon’s shoulder, craning her neck so she can see. Sharon lowers her arm so the phone screen is visible at Natasha’s height.

“That means they may not have started on her yet. What can you tell me about the protest?”

Not much, since most of the information is classified. Sharon hands the phone phone back to Natasha, who tucks it into her jeans’ pocket, and tries not to think about the what she saw in those files in relation to the woman in the photo. “On the surface it seemed like a normal protest that devolved into a riot.”

Natasha nudges her back into the flow of people. Sharon lets herself get swept away, Nat’s hand on her elbow to guide her through the crowd.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess it wasn’t normal,” Natasha quips.

Sharon shrugs. There really isn’t much more she can say without risking her job, and she’d rather not go through another interview process anytime soon.

Natasha squeezes her elbow and then releases her. She says, “I heard through the grapevine that you’ve got some time off coming up soon.”

Of course she heard about it. An entire week off, and Sharon is supposed to spend most of that week in bed with Christine and the rest of the time with an expensive bottle of wine or three.

She has a feeling those plans are about to change.

Sharon sighs. “Are we going to Sokovia to free potential victims of blatant human rights violations?”

“Well, we have a pit stop in San Fran first,” Natasha teases, bumping her hip against Sharon’s leg as they walk. “Better call Dr. Palmer to reschedule your date week.”

Sharon rolls her eyes. Out of spite, she waits until Natasha is distracted to pull out her phone and shoot off an apologetic text to Christine.

 

* * *

 

**Sokovia**

Two sets of footsteps march past the door of her room, but they don’t stop. Wanda lets out her breath and leans back against the cold stone wall.

 _Room_ is perhaps a generous name, but at least it doesn’t have bars.

She and Pietro volunteered a week ago, maybe more at this point. It is hard to keep track. She hasn’t seen her brother since, and it makes her skin itch.

The guard rotations increased in frequency two days ago, which tells her that something has happened. But still, no one has come for her, not since the Baron himself escorted her here. The meals are slid through an opening in the door. Whoever brings them never speaks.

Wanda tilts her head back and closes her eyes. There will be another pair of guards soon. Her evening meal isn’t for several hours, so she allows herself to doze.

Time passes strangely, here in her gray room deep within the fortress. Wanda drifts in and out, remembering the old songs her father used to sing to them.

She misses her brother.

Much later, another guard pair marches past, but they’re accompanied by a third set of footsteps and they all stop outside her door. Wanda picks her head up.

The door opens and a man steps inside. It’s not von Strucker, but he is just as imposing. He doesn’t address her at first, his head still turned to talk to the guards behind him. “Keep an eye on her. We don’t want a repeat of the last time.”

So she was right, something _did_ happen. Perhaps someone escaped—her brother? Or perhaps it was something worse.

The man focuses his attention on her. There is something oily in his gaze. She doesn’t like it.

“Subject 17,” the man says. “We’re ready for you.”

 

* * *

 

  **San Francisco**

Hope storms into her office and slams the door behind her. A headache is pressing itself against her temples, demanding to be known, so she closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Breathes in and out at a careful, measured tempo and begins to pace.

Her father seems determined to ruin this company if it’s the last thing he does and Darren slips further into obsession with each passing day. She can’t fix both of these issues. She's not sure she can fix one of them.

There’s a knock at the door and then her secretary, Larissa, says, “Ms. van Dyne? There are some people here to see you. They say it’s urgent.”

The Board meeting is usually meant to be her last one of the day, because it always leaves her in a foul mood, but Hope still finds herself saying, “Let them in.”

She doesn’t bother to sit at her desk; she has too much anxious energy to be still right now. Instead, Hope stops by the window and pivots to face the door as it opens. Three women step through. The blonde and the redhead, Hope doesn’t recognize. But the brunette—

“Hope,” Maria Hill says warmly, recognizable even now that her hair is cropped short and she has crows’ feet gathering at the corners of her eyes. “Pepper sends her love.”

Hope strides across the room and lets Maria gather her into a hug. She laughs despite herself, her bad mood fading away.

“Hello, Maria,” she says, pleased. She tightens her arms around Maria’s shoulders for a moment and then pulls back. “Who are your friends?”

The petite redhead steps forward, hand outstretched. Hope accepts it and they shake as the woman says, “Natasha Romanoff. I used to work with Maria.”

“I’m Sharon Carter,” the blonde says, waving slightly. “I _also_ worked with Maria.”

Three former SHIELD agents in her office, looking for all the world like they’re about to go out to lunch. Curious.

Hope retreats to her desk and leans back against the edge of it. She crosses her arms and surveys them. Sharon is the most obvious in watching her back, but she can tell the other two are on edge as well. They’re all mostly likely armed, despite the building’s security.

“I’m guessing you’re not here on a social call.”

Maria edges closer. Natasha and Sharon fall into step behind her, each angled slightly so they have the majority of the room covered. It’s impressive in the naturalness of the movement, obviously a well practiced habit. Maria says, “No. We have a mission and we need tech, if you have any.”

Hope’s eyebrow twitches.

“Why not go to Tony?” she asks. “He has plenty of _tech_ , and I know he’s been sponsoring the Avengers since the fall of SHIELD.”

Sharon flinches at that. It’s little more than a tick of some of the muscles in her face, but that may as well be a megaphone for someone who went to an all girls’ boarding school. They learned to exploit weaknesses before they had hit puberty. Hope would have expected something more from a spy.

“Tony can be a bit unpredictable,” Natasha says diplomatically. Hope doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick toward Sharon. “And… messy. If we ask him for stuff, he’s going to want to know what for, and then he’ll want to join. Better to leave him out of it.”

Hope thinks about Darren’s suspicions about her father. The suit Hank Pym keeps locked away in her childhood home. These three highly trained women, standing before her asking for support, about to walk into who knows _what_ kind of situation.

“I can get you some tech,” Hope tells them. “But I can also do you one better. How does backup sound?”

 

* * *

 

**Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean**

They get ready on the quinjet, autopilot set for an isolated area in Sokovia. For Sharon, it’s a simple enough process: she switches out her sneakers for an extra pair of Maria’s boots and takes some of the weapons Hope supplied them with. Prototype weapons from a side-project but, Hope assures them, fully functional.

 

Sharon hopes so. To be on the safe side, she snags two of the handguns from the quinjet’s racks and holsters them on her thighs.

When she turns back to the rest of the jet, Maria and Natasha are already in their suits. They huddle together near the bench against the far wall; Maria adjusts Natasha’s Widow Bite gauntlets with deft, gentle hands as Nat whispers something to her. Hope’s suit is red and gray, flashier than the simple, clean lines of the others’. She tucks a metallic helmet under one arm and comes to stand by where Sharon sits. As she walks, she puts something on her right ear that looks remarkably like a hearing aid.

Natasha catches sight of her and whistles, eyebrows raised. “That’s quite the get up, van Dyne.”

Maria and Hope roll their eyes, almost in sync. Natasha nudges Maria with her elbow.

“Braid my hair, babe?” she asks. Maria gives a put upon sigh, but maneuvers them so they're both sitting on the bench across from Sharon and she has access to Natasha's hair.

“My _father_ designed this suit,” Hope complains, and then winces. She grabs the suit’s chest fabric with her free hand and flexes her shoulders forward, trying to shift to be more comfortable. Unsatisfied with the results, she releases the suit and huffs in frustration. “Does anyone have a sports bra?”

“Actually, yeah,” Maria says. She gestures with her head toward the bag on the floor, still braiding Nat’s hair. “In there.”

“ _T_ _hank you_ ,” Hope says, and hurries to get it.

Sharon crosses her legs and lets herself be lulled by the smooth rhythm of Maria’s fingers moving through Natasha’s hair.

Maria huffs in frustration and releases the braid. It unravels quickly without any of the normal curls that catch on each other. Nat pulls her legs up to her chest and rests her chin on her knees as Maria starts again. She says, “I’ve been thinking about cutting my hair again.”

Maria hums as she pulls another section of hair into the french braid.

“You always say that, and then complain about hair getting into your eyes after,” Sharon says. Maria snorts and loses hold of the braid again. Something occurs to her then, and she asks, “How did you get this jet anyway?”

Maria gives her a sly smile. “I know a guy.”

So either Fury or Coulson then. Sharon wonders if either of them know that they quinjet is even missing at this point.

Hope comes and sits next to Sharon on the bench. She looks much more comfortable, her chest flattened enough by the sports bra that it no longer stretches the fabric of the suit awkwardly.

“Better?” Maria asks.

“Much,” Hope says, smiling, “thank you. There’s not much I can do about the hips right now, but it’s definitely better.”

Natasha frowns sympathetically just as Maria finishes the braid and tucks the tail of it back up underneath. That way, Natasha used to tell Sharon, it can't be grabbed in the middle of a fight but it's still out of her face.

“Pins?”

Nat hands some over. She glances at Hope and Sharon from the corner of her eye and says, “You guys ready for the briefing?”

They nod.

Natasha waits to turn until Maria gives her the all clear with a squeeze to the shoulder. She looks deceptively soft with her hair pulled back like that.

“We don’t know a lot,” Natasha starts, “but what we do know isn’t good. High likelihood of human rights violations in the form of unauthorized experimentation. Incredibly high energy outputs in the area from an unknown source. The fortress is heavily guarded. It won’t be easy to gain access.”

“Are we trying to be stealthy about this, or is it a ‘go in guns blazing and ask questions later’ sort of thing?” Hope asks.

“The less damage the better,” Maria says. “We don’t want to draw unwanted attention.”

Considering the fact that there are only two or three people, outside of the four of them, that know about this mission, unwanted attention includes… pretty much _everyone._

“I have something that can help with that,” Hope says. She pulls on her helmet and presses a button built into her glove.

She disappears.

“What the–?”

Sharon leans down. “Guys, she’s tiny.”

There’s a miniature version of Hope on the bench, waving her arms. Sharon can’t do much more than blink before she has to wrench herself backward as Hope grows to full sized again.

She hits the side of her helmet. The faceplate lifts up while the bottom portion hangs loose. There’s a cocky smirk on her face.

“That,” Natasha says, pointing at Hope, “changes everything. I think I’ve got an idea.”

 

* * *

 

**New York**

Pepper resists the urge to sigh after the door closes behind Congresswoman Finch. The woman is the human embodiment of a slug, if such a thing were possible, but her position on the congressional joint committee for human trafficking and experimentation makes her an important ally. They’re going to _need_ to be on Congresswoman Finch’s good side in the coming days, hence the meeting. The support of a congresswoman will go a long way when trying to bring undocumented refugees into the country.

It doesn’t make her presence—with that condescending squeak she calls a voice and her overly simplified explanations—any easier to bear.

Pepper gives herself a moment to stew in her distaste for the woman, then sets it aside.

If things go poorly with Finch’s proposal tomorrow, they’re going to need to go a different route.

Pepper doesn’t know entirely what to expect from this situation. In the past, SHIELD would have been in charge; as much as she hates it, she knows that any enhanced individuals extracted from enemy operations were liable to be offered protection from the government’s deportation policies if they agreed to work for SHIELD. But the organization is gone now, and with it any leniency for people who could be considered a threat to the country.

None of Stark Industries’ lawyers specialize in this area, which means Pepper will have to find someone else, if this turns into a fight. Pepper knows ADA Samantha Reyes by reputation only, but the woman is said to be ruthless. She won’t show any mercy.

That means Pepper has to find an attorney capable of holding their own against Reyes, someone who can spin a compelling argument for any potential refugees to stay.

She peruses Google for a few moments, but the search results don’t bring up any suggestions she hadn’t already known about. Jeri Hogarth would normally be her first choice, but Pepper knows her wife recently died; she likely won’t be in a place for a demanding trial. Marci Stahl specializes in property law, which won’t be any help now. Linda Chao is one of Hogarth’s partners, but she’s also one of the best lawyers in the country.

Pepper bites her lip and closes the tab. There’s no point in contacting Chao if Congresswoman Finch succeeds tomorrow. Especially when she hasn’t heard from the others yet.

She’ll wait, for now. No need to get anyone else involved yet.

The computer _dings_ with an incoming email. Pepper turns her attention to coordinating a lunch with the Mayor for next week, but she keeps Linda Chao’s name in the back of her mind.

 

* * *

 

**Sokovia**

Natasha lands the quinjet while Hope waits in the hold with Sharon and Maria. Her father’s suit is still too tight around her chest and hips, too loose at the waist, and a little too long at her wrists and ankles, but it will have to do. She’ll be well enough protected from the Pym Particle and that’s the important thing.

The others move quietly past each other, gathering up last minute gadgets and weapons. Hope wonders if she should grab a gun, but she doesn’t know how a regular weapon will react to being shrunk over and over again.

Damn, but she wishes her father had built weapons into his suit. Hope picks up her helmet and tucks it beneath one arm.

Natasha powers the quinjet down and joins them, holstering another gun at her hip. She says, “We’re about a mile east of the base, opposite the village. Hope, you’re good to go?”

Hope nods.

“Right,” Natasha says. “Hope will go first and let us know where to avoid. If we’re lucky, there won’t be a bunker on this side of the valley.”

Maria holds out her right hand. She has three earpieces. Natasha and Sharon each take one, so Hope follows their lead and snags the last one. She hooks it around her left ear and activates it using the button on the back.

“We should all be on the same frequency,” Maria says, and there’s a slight delay in the earpiece, creating an echo. “Let’s get moving, ladies.”

Sharon palms open the back hatch and stands back to let Hope out first.

She glances back over her shoulder at the women behind her. Natasha smirks, Maria nods, and Sharon gives her a tiny salute. Hope gives them a smile and presses the button so the helmet seals.

Then she walks.

The quinjet is situated a mile from the compound, which gives Hope the much needed time to call any nearby ants before she has to shrink down. Assuming, of course, that these ants will be susceptible to the same types of manipulation. _Why_ didn’t her father just put wings on the suit?

She doesn’t have the same surveillance training as the others, but Hope knows enough to stop when she’s still about a half mile away from the compound. She presses the button on her glove and shrinks.

The ants that have been following her are much easier to see when she’s their size.  None have wings, which is a shame, but she can make do. One of the larger ants scuttles over and she climbs up, settling herself on its thorax. As a group, the ants start running toward compound.

“I haven’t seen any–” she starts, only to cut herself off with a curse.

“What is it?” Maria asks over the earpiece.

“Tank.” Hope watches it go, thankful that she’s already tiny. “Heading north. There might be more but I can’t see any. I’m about a quarter mile from the base.”

“Copy that,” Natasha says.

Hope and the ants keep moving. She’s very thankful that there’s no snow; the wet, dead leaves are bad enough.

It takes another several minutes for the ants to reach the fortress, which is stretched out along a hill in the middle of the valley like a large, ugly cat sunning itself.

“We’ve started our approach,” Maria says.

“Copy,” Hope says. “The fortress is elevated on a hill overlooking a river. There’s a path leading up to the fortress from the east. That’s where I’m going to go in.”

The majority of the ants fall back toward the trees as Hope’s ant continues forward. The path is smooth and clear of guards. Wide enough for a car to pass easily, but it doubles back on itself several times as it winds its way toward the fortress. They’re almost through the open doorway that leads into the city—

The ant gets flung backward and Hope flies off its back. She lands funny on her shoulder and grunts as she rolls to a stop.

“Hope? What’s wrong?” It’s Sharon.

“Not sure,” she tells them. “Hit some sort of energy field.”

She would like to just stay where she is, but that isn’t an option. So she pushes herself up and walks toward the doorway again. A few feet away, she bumps into something solid and bounces off. A little blue burst of light fills the spot where she hit before fading away.

“It’s a force field, I think. Why didn't your contact mention that?”

Maria curses. “She probably couldn't see it from a distance. Can you get around it?”

“I’m not sure,” Hope says.

Just then, a pair of guards come marching up the walkway. Hope dives out of the way of their boots and then launches herself forward. Clings to the pant leg of the person on the right.

She passes through the doorway unscathed. That moment it seems safe, Hope drops down and rolls out of the way.

“Seems like the guards might have devices that let them through the field.”

“We don’t have time to get enough of those for all of us,” Natasha says. “You’re going to have to shut it down completely.”

Hope has no idea where to go to do that, but she figures the big building in the middle of the compound is a good place to start.

*

Once Hope shuts the field down, it’s relatively easy work.

Though, Nat thinks as she punches out another HYDRA goon, it’s probably best not to phrase it that way to the others. Sharon’s already mad enough about missing her time off with her girlfriend and about wearing Maria’s boots that it won’t go over well.

Nat launches herself at the next idiot and gets her legs around his neck before taking him to the ground. Maria isn’t particularly happy either; she seems to _like_ the fact that her new job mostly involves intimidating people rather than actually having to beat them up.

She shoots the next three goons because, okay, maybe this _is_ getting a little old. She’s just glad that bullet wound from the other day has healed up already.

“Hope,” Sharon yells over the sounds of the fight, “have you found any survivors?”

“Not yet.” Nat hears an electronic whine of something shutting down through the comms. “Just turned off the rest of the security system though. That should help things along.”

And it does. Some of the HYDRA agents’ weapons shut down, most of the doors aren’t locked, and the _really_ big guns aren’t working anymore. Thank fuck for that.

“Check the main building,” Nat manages. She dodges an energy blast and charges the closest person. “I’ll keep going on clean up.”

The others give confirmation that they heard, and then it’s just Nat against an entire fortress of HYDRA assholes.

It'll be a great way to blow off some steam.

*

They run into Hope just as she’s leaving a side room toward the outside of the building. She's normal sized.

“Hey,” she says, panting slightly. “I wouldn’t go in there. Things got a little messy.”

Maria motions with her head for Hope to take the lead. She doesn’t go in the security room, but she does peer inside as they pass. A least four guards are unconscious on the ground and several of the computer stations are spitting out sparks.

Hope catches her looking. She just sort of shrugs. “There wasn’t time for finesse.”

That, Maria can understand.

The three of them sweep through the building, Hope at the front. Maria and Sharon do room checks as they pass, both for hostages and guards. They find plenty of HYDRA jackasses, but no one being held or experimented on against their will.

The hallway dumps them into a massive room that runs the length of the building and stretches up to the roof. It’s quick work to take care of the guards in there, but if there had been anyone more important in here before, they’re long gone.

“Computers have been wiped,” Sharon says. She moves to the next terminal but shakes her head at Maria. Same results.

Maria does a sweep of the rest of the room with her eyes. A blue glow catches her attention.

“Shit,” she says, moving away from the doorway. “ _Shit._ That’s Loki’s scepter.”

“No fucking way,” Nat says, sounding annoyed. “How’d it get here?”

“HYDRA,” Sharon says darkly. The bastards must have gotten it out of SHIELD’s storage sometime after the fall. Or maybe before; there’s really no way of knowing at this point.

“Well we can’t just leave it here,” Maria decides.

“I can shrink it?” Hope says, holding up a small metallic disc. It glows red around her gloved fingers.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Sharon starts toward the scepter. “Who knows what this thing is capable of. Shrinking it could mess with it in ways we don’t even understand.”

Hope tucks the disc away in her belt.

“Nobody touch it,” Nat says. “Remember—”

“Wait—”

Sharon grabs it.

Maria flinches back on instinct, but nothing happens. Sharon just lifts it up, slides it into one of her empty thigh holsters, and looks in Maria’s direction. It’ll make it awkward for her to run, but it’s better than leaving it behind.

“Alright, let’s keep going,” Maria says. “That one woman might still be alive.”

They sweep through the ground floor, then work their way up. Just more guards that are easily taken care of. She keeps half her attention on the comm in case Nat needs help, but the only thing they get from her is more insults as she takes on the agents outside of the fortress.

It makes Maria a little nauseous, watching how quickly Hope shrinks and grows and shrinks again, but Maria can’t deny how useful it is. She wonders why this technology hasn’t been developed further. It’s exactly the type of thing SHIELD would have exploited, before it fell.

They check up to the top floor and there’s nothing. Maria clears the last room and sighs, frustrated.

“We must have missed something,” she says.

Hope pulls her helmet off and swipes at her bangs where they stick to her forehead. She uses one of those glowing discs to shrink the helmet down, and she sticks it in a compartment on her belt. “Maybe there’s a basement?”

Which, duh.

“Natasha, you doing okay?” Sharon asks as they clamber back down the stairs.

“Yeah,” Nat says, exhaling hard. She yells something in Russian. “I’m good.”

There is, in fact, a basement. Most of the doors are unlocked and open and empty. In the last hallway, a woman stands guard at the farthest door. She raises her weapon when she sees them but Sharon shoots her first.

“Well that’s a bit of a giveaway,” Sharon mutters. They check all the rooms anyway, but they’re empty. The last door—the one the woman had been guarding—is closed but still not locked.

Maria levels her gun at the door and motions with her head.

“Sharon, other side,” she says. Sharon mirrors her. “Hope, on my signal I want you to open the door. No one shoot unless you’re attacked.”

They line up. Hope glances at her. She takes a steadying breath. “Okay… now!”

Hope swings the door open. Maria raises her gun.

The person—a girl, she’s young, god she’s _young_ —inside the room lunges, her hands glowing red.

Sharon shouts and drops her gun. She reaches out.

The girl makes contact with Hope.

*

She’s seven and her dad is crying. He thinks she can’t hear him but she’s seven and curious and she misses her mom.

Her mom hasn’t come

                              Darren Cross’ face as he la

home

                              ughs at something she said, but it was something nasty about her father

         Boarding school girls are nasty. She’s eight and— and   she’s eight and

                                Why would she say that?

         Someone braids her hair but they yank

Her dad

         too hard and it _hurts_ it _hurts_ it _hu_

She’s seven. She makes friends with the ants that live in the backyard.

She misses her mom.

*

“What did you _do_?”

Maria trains her gun on the girl. She doesn’t want to shoot but she will, if the girl tries to attack them again.

But she’s not moving. She stares down at Hope where she collapsed on the floor, eyes wide and frightened.

“Жао ми је,” the girl says.

“English,” Sharon says. She edges between the girl and Hope, kicking her dropped gun out of the way. “Do you speak English?”

“I thought you were them.” The girl swings her head up and gives Maria a beseeching look. She points at the scepter in Sharon’s thigh holster. “They used that. To do” –she gestures at the whole of herself– “this!”

“The scepter gave you your powers?” Sharon asks. She checks Hope’s pulse and nods at Maria. Still alive then.

But the girl has moved on. “My brother. Did you find him? His name is Pietro.”

“No,” Maria says. “I’m sorry, there was no one else.”

The girl seems to crumple in on herself, eyes glowing and fingers throwing off red sparks.

Over the comm, Nat says, “Time to wrap it up, ladies. I think we’ve overstayed our welcome.”

Maria clenches her jaw and then relaxes it. She points to Sharon. “Watch her on our way out.” She turns her gaze on the girl. “Don’t even think about trying anything.”

The girl nods. Sharon picks up her gun.

Maria breathes in and then out. She squats by Hope, mutters _sorry for this_ under her breath, and then lifts Hope into a fireman’s carry.

“Let’s go,” she says. Those stairs are going to be a pain.

*

Nat is the last one to the quinjet. In the distance, she sees that the others are almost there.

She turns and fires twice, picking off the agents manning the guns on the top of the tank. The tank keeps driving, but at least it’s not firing at her anymore.

For now.

“Please tell me one of you knows how to fly the jet,” she pants.

“I do.” It’s Sharon.

“Great,” Nat says. She puts on an extra burst of speed for the last hundred yards. The tank is gaining on her. “Start it up, _now._ ”

The jet stays dead for a moment and then it blazes to life, lifting off the ground slowly. Shit.

Nat plants her feet and _launches_ herself through the doors.

“Go!”

The hatch closes and the jet blasts higher.

Nat allows herself a second or two to lay there and catch her breath. Then it’s up again—pushing herself to her feet and taking stock of the situation.

Hope is unconscious on the floor, with Maria hovering over her. There’s a teen in the far corner, hunched in on herself. Sharon steps out of the cockpit a moment later.

“Is Hope okay?” Nat asks.

Maria sighs. “I think so. I’m not sure what the girl did to her, but it should wear off soon.”

Okay. They can work with that. Nat turns to the teen.

“What’s your name?”

The girl lifts her head, the dark curtain of her hair falling away from her face. “Wanda.” She sniffs and blinks several times. “My name is Wanda.”

“Okay, Wanda,” Nat says, going to crouch in front of her. “My name is Natasha. And you’re safe now, I promise.”

Wanda meets her eyes. “But what about my brother?”

Nat shifts her gaze to look at Sharon, helpless to answer the question in a way that will satisfy Wanda. In the end, she doesn't end up saying anything.

 

* * *

 

**Seoul**

Nakia finds Pietro standing at the windows of Helen’s lab as the pink light of the sunrise wells up over the horizon. His arms are wrapped around his torso. As she watches, he stutters a meter to the left in the blink of an eye and then back to where he started. Helen is working on a solution to his inability to control his speed, but Nakia suspects that control will only come with time.

“Pietro, did you sleep at all?” she asks. He starts at the sound of her voice, stuttering backward. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

He moves to face her. The dark circles beneath his eyes are answer enough to her question.

“I miss my sister,” he tells her.

Nakia crosses the rest of the distance between them and puts a hand on his upper arm.

“I know,” she says gently. “I’m sorry. If I don’t hear from my friend today we will go back for her.”

Pietro stares down at her, wary and hopeful all at once. The sunlight illuminates half of his face and throws the rest into shadow. He asks, “You promise?”

“Yes,” Nakia says. “I promise, I will help you find your sister.”

 

* * *

 

**Iowa**

Laura wakes up before Clint and the kids. This far along in her pregnancy it’s not unusual for her to wake before dawn, but it doesn’t mean she has to like it. This pregnant, she can’t do any of the barn chores, even though she’s already up.

Groaning, Laura levers herself upright and gets out of bed. Clint snores but doesn’t stir so she leaves him alone. It’s an ordeal to get down the steep staircase. She is very glad Clint didn’t insist on keeping those staggered stairs that were here when they first moved in.

The coffee machine is already prepped—decaf, most likely, because Clint is even stricter about her dietary restrictions than Laura is—so all she has to do is press the power button for it to begin brewing. Her favorite mug is on the counter, too, rather than in the cupboard where it belongs, because she can’t reach it with her belly this big.

God but she loves her husband.

Laura leans back against the counter and runs through the schedule for the day as she waits for the machine to finish. Cooper and Lila want to learn about architecture today, so that’s the plan for the morning. Betty is stopping by for lunch. The afternoon is free, unless the baby decides that today is _the_ day.

Once the machine stops burbling, Laura pours a generous amount into her mug, leaving room for creamer. She can forgo unnecessary sugar, but black coffee is the worst.

They keep the creamer on the fridge door shelf. It’s nearly empty, so she makes a note on the grocery list to get more and then uses the last of it. Clint will just have to make do with regular milk. Laura plucks a spoon from the drying rack by the sink and stirs the coffee until she’s satisfied by the color.

The landline rings.

Only two people have the home number, and one of them is pretending to be dead.

Laura snatches the phone up and answers, “Nat?”

“Hey sweetheart,” Nat says, voice rough like she hasn’t gotten enough sleep. “I didn’t want to spook you, but I’m going to be dropping by the farm very soon.”

“Oh, well, you know we’re always happy to see you,” Laura says. There’s a pause on the other end of the line that’s more telling than if Nat had actually tried to lie. “You aren’t coming alone.”

“No, and I’m sorry,” Nat says. Laura takes a sip of her coffee to allow Nat the time she needs to say the rest. “We dropped off Hope in San Fran earlier, and I trust Maria and Sharon with my life.”

Laura has spent a good portion of her life in love with spies. She can see a contradiction coming from a mile away. “But?”

“But there’s a girl,” Nat admits. She sighs. “We got her out of a really bad situation, and I need a place where I know she’ll be safe. Just until we can figure out the legality of her situation.”

Laura isn’t going to touch _that_ with a ten foot pole.

“I asked Maria and Sharon to stay on the jet,” Nat adds, desperation leaking into her voice.

“I trust you, Nat,” she says.

“Okay,” Nat says, and then she repeats it: “Okay good.”

There’s a knock at the door. Laura pulls the phone away from her ear and looks between it and the exterior door. She sighs and places the phone back into the cradle.

She opens the door to Nat, who grins apologetically and shrugs.

Laura smiles. “Come here, you.”

Nat lets Laura pull her into a hug, awkward as it with how big her belly’s gotten. Laura kisses her on the cheek and then releases her.

“Alright, where is she?” Laura asks.

Nat steps to the side and gestures with one hand to the young woman standing behind her. The teen is pale in a way she shouldn't be and her eyes dart all over the place to take everything in. There’s something very fragile in the way she holds herself, and Laura doesn’t miss the faded bruises on her cheek and wrists.

She gives Nat a look, because she knows that Nat knows they’ll never say no to someone in need. Especially not a child who’s hurt and alone.

“What’s your name?” Laura asks.

The girl jerks to look at her, eyes wide, but doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches on for so long that Laura starts to think she doesn’t speak English, and then the girl says, “Wanda. My name is Wanda.”

Well, Laura thinks to herself as she ushers Wanda inside and sends Nat to retrieve Maria and Sharon from the quinjet. Looks like there’s going to be another addition to the family today after all.

 

* * *

 

From: carolsdanvers@outlook.com  
To: jane.foster@gmail.com

Subject: Gamma radiation readings

 

Dr. Foster:

I apologize for the delay in my response to your email. I took a look at the readings you sent me and I agree that there’s something unusual about them. The gamma levels are unlike anything on Earth, as far as my own research tells me. Out of curiosity, I spoke with a friend of mine who was able to give me access to the feeds for a satellite that was passing over the area you mentioned. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary in comparison to Sokovia’s baseline readings.

It seems as though something has caused a temporary or permanent end to whatever was throwing off the energy in the first place. I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help; please don’t hesitate to reach out to me in the future if you experience the same situation or a similar one.

Sincerely,  
Carol

[See quoted text]

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Clint, Laura, and Nat are all very much in love and have an open relationship. Nat is dating Maria. Sharon is dating Dr. Palmer (get it girl). Jane and Darcy are definitely dating, I'm sorry, I make the rules here. Hope, Maria, and Pepper _definitely_ all went to the same boarding school, though they weren't in the same year.
> 
> I don't know how fast ants run. Please forgive me for any inaccuracies. I played it kind of fast and loose with the timeline as well as like, all of the Sokovia-related stuff because I really, really didn't want to subject myself to a rewatch of AoU even though this fic was based on (replacing) that movie. There will definitely be more of this fic. I've still got all the marvel Space Ladies to work in, haven't I? Plus, a few loose ends to deal with too....
> 
> I really do hope you all enjoyed it; comments and kudos are always appreciated <3
> 
> Read on,  
> Skats


End file.
